Sick
by UndercoverMoffat
Summary: After a while, Dean gave up trying to be just. More of a ship/character study than anything else. Destiel. Songfic to Adelita's Way's Sick.


**Sick****  
By Heaven's Rebel  
Rated T  
Dean/Castiel  
Romance/Angst  
Spoilers up through the season seven finale.**

**A/N: So. I started writing this (During school XD) like months ago, and it's just been casually chilling in my flashdrive to be finished. So uh yeah, probably a sucky ending. This is more of a ship study, I guess? Or a character study. Something along those lines. It's totally like plot-less. Just Dean's standpoint on Cass throughout the seasons. Song!Fic to Adelita's Way _Sick._ I highly recommend listening to it. It's so beautiful.**

_I'm so sick of me, being sick of you,  
And the way you look, all the things you do,  
You drive me crazy, drive me crazy_

Dean Winchester really did tire quickly.

Not physically per say, too many years of hunting and fighting and ganking monster ass has toughened his stamina to the point where it took just about all of Hell to break him. Of course, Hell isn't the only thing that's managed to shatter him into a million pieces . . .

At night, when he was a child, Mary would whisper in his ear that angel's were watching over him.

Fuck yeah, they were. And, dear God, he wished they wouldn't.

It started, maybe, with twinkling lights fluttering down, lighting the face of a holy tax accountant, throwing it so much shadow and mystery. Dean had pretty much accepted his borderline bisexuality at that point, and though he knew how damn wrong it was, he couldn't help but find this vessel attractive to say the least. (It took him several months to figure out it wasn't the physical appearance that drew him in but rather everything else.) There was something endearing about his ruffle of dark hair and eyes so blue anyone could just drown in them forever . . .

Of course, the whole idea that this so-called Angel of the Lord yanked Dean from the pit didn't do anything to cure this fascination. He paid close attention, even if he shouldn't have, and though every logical part of his brain screamed at him, told him that his savior was just as arrogant and dick-ish as the rest of them, he still found himself smiling at every little tilt of the head, every crease of the brow. Perhaps it was the angel's innocence that appealed to him the most, the idea that he had yet to bet tainted by humanity.

They did have their bumps, yes, in which Dean would curse the angel's name to high Heaven (No pun intended), but they always seemed to get resolved with a few choice words and another one of those illegal smiles.

After a while, Dean gave up trying to be just.

_Sick of being broke, can't pay the rent  
I'm about to snap, I can't handle this  
I'm doing crazy, doing crazy (going crazy)_

Dean never really complained about the cheap ass motel rooms and credit card scams but when the five-dollar-a-gallon gas Apocalypse rolled around, he begun to realize just how crappy his life really was.

He'd never blame his Dad, not in a million years, so he thrust everything onto the Yellow-Eyed Demon – Azazel – and even his mom for making that damned deal and even himself and pretty much the entire universe, but not John. Because Dean realized that _damn_ if that happened to Cass he'd go fucking insane too.

(There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him if Azazel wasn't on some building-psychic-kids trip, then Sam wouldn't have died, and Dean wouldn't have made that deal, and Cass wouldn't have been there to save the day. So in some fucked up way, that demon is the whole reason Dean got his angel.)

Dean pretty much lost it when Cass died twice within months of each other, but he shoved it far, far down, where no one could see. He never had to suffer long because then God would swing by and pick his angel up again and it would be okay.

Maybe it was that fear, the fear that one day Cass would be gone and God wouldn't be around to make everything right again, that made him leave to go be with Lisa. He'd already lost Sammy, and he'd be damned if he lost the only other person on this God forsaken Earth he truly loved. So he left, to protect him, to protect his angel.

Maybe Cass didn't get that.

Then again, maybe he didn't care.

_If you're sick like me  
There's no stopping now,  
Try to break it up  
And just let it out_

Dean knew he couldn't really get away.

So when Soul-less Sam was alive and kickin' and they were back doing their thing, the family business, he fully expected Cass to be there for him. He wasn't disappointed, and maybe, just maybe, he should've paid more damn attention to what his angel did for them, because maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have run off with that dick Crowley.

It wasn't the raw betrayal that hurt him the most, it wasn't the emotions, it wasn't anything but the sheer fact that it was _Cass_, the angel of the friggin' Lord who groped him and pulled him from Hell and was always supposed to be there to support him. To fucking hold him when he cried, because he's the only fucking being in the entire universe that was allowed to do that, and damn he did too, more often that he should have.

He should've known his own emotions would destroy the angel he loved.

_If I was sick like you,  
I would feed the fire  
I would light it up  
And watch it all drop down__  
_

Needless to say, it killed him when Cass stood in that ring of Holy Fire and begged with those _damned blue eyes_ and all these arguments that Dean would never, ever admit were valid. He'd never really identified the feeling, never payed much attention, but a part of him believed that he just wasn't _good enough_ for Cass. That Cass _wouldn't _do all this for him – rebel and open Purgatory and be Crowley's little bitch for a day – because _why?_ Dean didn't deserve it. Man, he didn't even deserve to be yanked from the Pit. No, no Cass _wouldn't _do those things for him. Because he was a God damned Angel of the fucking Lord and –

_Fuck._

_I'm so sick of my life  
It's the same old trip,  
Try to make it bend,  
But it never gives  
Look what you made me (what you made me)__  
_

There was one thing he'd never tell Sam or Bobby, but if there was a single entity in existence that he'd worship it'd be Cass.

Even though he went all super-God and threatened to kill them and all this other bullshit, Dean was ready. Ready to fall to his knees and grovel. But he wouldn't, not with Sam all fucked up and Bobby watching his every move. Like he knew.

Dean wouldn't doubt it if he did.

And more than anything, Dean blamed himself. Blamed himself for all of it, every last bit. Because if he hadn't gone and fucked up and let Sam die, then that demon deal would never have been made and Cass wouldn't, Cass wouldn't –

It was at that point that Dean knew he wouldn't be okay.

_Well I hate my boss,  
He's a little bitch  
If he keeps it up,  
I'll make him quit  
Or I'll go crazy  
I'm going crazy_

There was nothing when it came to the Leviathans.

Absolutely nothing at all.

Just the alcohol, sloshing around inside the empty shell he somehow dared to call a man. Nothing fixed that hole, nothing filled it. It was just, there. And he drowned in it.

Until Cass came back.

_If you're sick like me  
There's no stopping now  
Try to break it up  
And just let it out  
_

And then he went crazy.

_If I was sick like you,  
I would feed the fire  
I would light it up  
And watch it all drop down_

And now Purgatory awaits them.


End file.
